US

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I knew I didn't fit in, and it wasn't like I planned to, no one ever plans to, but it's normal to not fit in a group.

But the one thing that I did hate was my dresses.

Oh yes, I hated it.

I was born presbyterian, so if you thought catholics were stricter, my parents were another bag of something else. The dresses were past knee length, my hair always had to be down and I was never allowed to be around boys.

In retrospect, it was basically their fault, pushing girls towards me. Maybe they were just trying to make me feel better about how much I hated myself but they let Agnes do sleepovers with me and I liked Agnes's skin.

At first I thought, wow, pretty skin, then the next thing was pretty collarbones, and boom, I'm looking at the boobs. So no, it was totally their fault, but I knew enough to never act on my impulses.

My parents took pride on being not just rich, but being extremely religious and rich, a very rare breed I might add, and they were religious, if you ignored the extremist views, snobbish attitude and wicked heart, they could be classified as religious.

Maybe that's why I didn't fit in. I looked in church and I knew everyone was fake, but they took pride on the fact they could be nice and cordial to one another and when I looked outside church, they saw me as a freak that looked like a polish farm girl from the eighteenth century.

But then I didn't mind. I had Agnes and her pretty pink nipples to think about. I was able to blend in easily with them if I was with her.

It was tuesday when the girls and I were playing and there was this wind that raised our dresses up.

The boys looked.

And they laughed.

Agnes cried, and all I thought was Agnes shouldn't cry, it wasn't really her strongest suit, it made her really ugly.

So I walked up to him, pushed him down to the floor with my shoe on his head and gave him a good look at my underwear since he thought it was funny.

I didn't let him get up till my Parents came and got me off him. They had asked what happened and maybe I shouldn't have told them that I wanted him to see my underwear just to spite him but I did and my Father, he—

He made me kneel on rice seeds and repeat the sentence, 'Women are evil.'

I should have known earlier that my Father hated women because he made my Mother sleep on the floor instead of the bed. I should have known he only made me sleep on a bed because he didn't want Agnes to tattletale to the church.

I should have known that when Agnes saw me crying and was trying to give me emotional support, kissing her wasn't the way to do things.

Kissing her meant that I was possessed.

She didn't tell, no, but Agnes was tormented about it. She wouldn't talk to me. She wouldn't look at me anymore. But Agnes kept looking sicker by the day.

Then one day, it happened.

One Sunday, her Parents were grabbing her by her ponytail into church, they looked absolutely upset, they looked absolutely mad.

"Our daughter confessed to kissing another girl!"

I thought Agnes was stupid and I thought of running from my Mother's tight grip.

I also thought of running to Agnes and slapping her.

She was crying, begging her Father to let her go. She was also looking at me. I should have come out. I shouldn't have hidden behind my elder brother.

I should have come out when they asked her who she kissed.

She kept looking at me, she kept crying and staying silent only making sure to let out sounds of pleas when the pulling of her hair became unbearable.

"Talk!" Her Father slapped her hard and she fell to the floor. Loud sobs filling the air. I clutched unto my Father now.

He was holding me tight, disgust on his face. "I can't believe I let that girl near you. Forgive me, Skyler."

Forgive him?

I looked at Agnes, I wanted her to forgive me.

The men in the church kicked her. They hurt her. My Mother covered my eyes but I wanted to look. I wanted to see her.

Then her Father said she was possessed and called her an evil spawn of Satan. Said she must have kissed a girl just so he could have sex with her.

I knew Agnes. She wasn't the type to speak back. She was nice. She was good.

She wasn't evil.

And she said that. She looked at her Father, her bright blue eyes begging, "Please, Daddy, I'm good. I've always been good."

His response was a kick to her face with his boots.

There was blood everywhere after that. I turned away then. I couldn't look. And I didn't till we were home.

After that day, I never saw Agnes again, at least not physically and I wouldn't say I missed her, because she was in my dreams everyday.

Those eyes staring at me. Asking me why I didn't do anything. Why I was so weak.

And everyday, I woke up with tears on my face and blue eyes haunting me.

I had just been thirteen then.